


The Eyes Are The Windows To The Soul

by The_Feeshling



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Feeshling/pseuds/The_Feeshling
Summary: Barricade is harder to eradicate than once thought. Post Chicago (Dark of the Moon)





	The Eyes Are The Windows To The Soul

He could smell his own burning circuitry.

 In hindsight, Barricade had to hand it to them; the fleshbags had managed to organize, and the Decepticon infiltrator had been on planet Earth plenty long enough to learn that even though they were easily dispatched singularly or in small groups, they could become dangerous if they rallied together. Like ants overwhelming a foe a thousand times their size, _homo sapiens_ outnumbered his kind on this planet a hundred thousand to one.

 Perhaps it should not have come to him as a surprise, yet it did. Everything was coming to a close; Soundwave gave the order --

 “ ** _No prisoners: only trophies_ **.”

 -- meant to wrap up the Autobot’s involvement neatly and decisively as the city of Chicago burned in the fires of Decepticon victory. Funny how quickly the odds can tilt, even when the game seems to be barreling towards one inevitable conclusion.

 First, there were shots fired from above, targeting his and the other soldier’s optical arrays. Barricade had taken two rounds directly to the face, but fortunately for him, the fleshies weren’t exactly using scattershot. Two of his four optics had been successfully evicted from the rest of his head, and almost immediately after, some form of detonating device saw to it that his right foot and right leg went their separate ways.

 The onyx and ivory Decepticon had gone down, hard. Barricade could still see, and see perfectly well, well enough to note with some level of cold, calculating dismay that he was being surrounded and pumped full of lead shot by carbonmonkey soldiers. Pain erupted, circuitry sizzling, fluids of different kinds flowing from a dozen wounds and more were being added by the second. Survival instinct quickly rose to stifle the white hot rage bubbling under the inky black surface of sturdy soldier’s armor. There was only one thing to be done:

Play dead.

 He was no use to the Decepticon cause if he was naught more than an empty shell. With a final roar and a halfhearted lunge at his enemy, Barricade lurched back down to the cracked, hot pavement and went still. Since one of his subordinates was still in the throes, this seemed to satisfy the human soldiers enough to make them move on to others that had not yet been completely felled.

 Still he stayed until the deafening din of rigorous battle moved off into the distance; only then did he dare stir. A cursory examination of his immediate surroundings revealed nothing more than a single soldier meandering about in the street. No doubt, it was one left behind to ensure the enemy’s carcasses _were_ in fact dead, and would remain that way. Unfortunately, the humans only had intuition and vision at their disposal at this time; it did not appear that the fleshbag had any sort of sensor that was capable of measuring life signs in a Cybertronian.

 Laying his helm back down, Barricade resumed his mimicry of a freshly sparkless corpse. Proximity sensors in addition to the sound of boots on asphalt alerted the Decepticon to the fleshling’s nearing location. Footsteps silenced, and a lazy gun barrel rapped noisily across charred and damaged facial plating. Giving an unconvinced hum, the sandy-haired soldier lifted his rifle and fired at the neck, just to be absolutely certain that the police impersonating menace had well and truly expired.

 Satisfied, the man turned on his heel and walked away.

 He got less than six paces distance between himself and the believed empty shell.

 The staccato clatter of nearby weaponry covered the deceptively quiet sound of gears and machinery put into motion as the monster rose to all fours behind the lone soldier. It was the _growl_ that got his attention: it made his blood run like ice, his hair stand on end and his bones rattle from the near subsonic frequency. Turning slowly, blue eyes widened as sweat dripped down the man’s steadily blanching face.

 It was up, and it was _staring at him_ . It had a bulldog’s stance, all humped shoulders, bared teeth, and raised hackles as the pinpoint rubies on the undamaged side of its face stared murderous holes into the man’s own eyes. It was like the monster was searching the window to his soul for something only it knew, something it was _hungry_ for.

 Black gloved hands tightened their grip on the assault rifle nestled against his solar plexus, but the thing was already in motion, as though the Decepticon could hear his muscle and sinew tightening in preparation for one last ditch effort to survive. It lunged, impossibly fast, as the soldier raised his rifle, finger tightening on the trigger with intent to fill the rest of the damned _thing’s_ face with lead.

 The soldier’s end was a brutal one, witnessed by no one. Backwards curving steel teeth slammed into his upper chest and back with the decisive and sickening _crunch_ of muscle and bone giving away like twigs to the oppressive force of the metal monster who now had his upper body in it’s jaws. Crushed and torn, blood soaking the army camouflage fabric a dark, wet crimson, the soldier was dead before he could feel the pain from the total destruction that had been done to his body.

 Rising to his full height, Barricade turned and bodily threw the organic corpse down onto the broken street like a dog who had just finished shaking the life out of a fox. Looking over his handiwork, the Decepticon soldier dropped back to all fours and stepped over the mangled, twisted mass of gore that had been a human being just sixty seconds before. The battle was raging to a close, or so it sounded, so the black and white mech did what he did best:

 He disappeared.


End file.
